


Twist and Turn

by missmollyetc



Category: Hockey RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Chicago Blackhawks, Established Relationship, Hockey Players-Canada, Hockey Players-Men, M/M, National Hockey League
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 13:19:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This represents a complete failure to roleplay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twist and Turn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shoemaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoemaster/gifts).



> Thanks to [shihadchick](shihadchick.livejournal.com) for the handholding, the encouragement, and the rigorous beta work. Title taken from [The Gaslight Anthem](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5jaotJ86mF4).

Kane'd had the hangover, and Buff'd been the one to rag him from one end of the rink to the other, but somehow Duncan was the one holding down the table while all the other guys made asses of themselves on the dance floor. Fuck, he was getting old if the only reason he'd finally let the rookies chirp him into a night at The Pony was for the grilled cheese and a decent beer.

Duncan dropped his crust back onto the plate in front of him, licking grease and red sauce off his fingers. He leaned against the wall, rocking his bar stool onto two legs. The strobe lights flickered across the crowd gyrating around the sunken dance floor beyond the crappy VIP section Sharpy’d talked the waitstaff into setting up; shit always seemed to go his way with waitresses. He snagged the rim of his pint glass between two fingers, and dragged it close enough to grip properly.

Not that it’d taken too long to make the hostess hook some twine up to a couple of stanchions, considering the amount of photos they’d taken with the staff. The season was looking up; people were showing up to watch them play these days. He hadn’t had to hand out free ticket ‘business cards’ in weeks. He took a drink, licking the straggling foam off the glass as he swallowed, and looked out over the bar. Kane was around somewhere, trying to fuck the greater Chicagoland area, which meant Johnny was probably standing next to him, trying not to look like he wouldn't kill the greater Chicagoland area for letting Kane into its pants and not him. Their pants. Something like that. Those two were getting kind of weird.

Duncan shifted against the wall, and took another swallow of beer. The bassline pulsed up from the wood flooring, vibrating his bar stool and setting his teeth on edge. This fucking DJ liked his Rihanna. Duncan'd sat through six different techno remixes of "Shut Up and Drive" already. He rocked back onto all four legs, shifting in his seat. The Friday night crowd rumbled and shrieked around him, barely kept back by the chintzy rope. Fuck, why had he come out here again? He had a good thing at home, his own beer and a warm bed and... He rubbed his hand over his eyes, scrunching up his nose, and dragged his fingers down his cheek. Jesus, he was turning into his old man, or something. Maybe Seabs'd had a point about getting out more, even if he had sounded like he was talking about something else at the time.

Well, so fucking what if Duncan wasn't in the fucking mood to go out all the time. He'd done the rookie thing already. He'd gone out and partied and fucking made an ass out of himself right next to Seabs, and if three years in he maybe had a couple of quiet months than...fucking what. He was fucking allowed a little time to sit back and think some shit over.

He gulped his beer, watching the overhead strobes wheel around the club floor, and fuck away his night vision. Seabs hadn’t been coming around his place as much, for appearances’ sake and all, and they’d been talking a bit now—planning shit that they never got around to ‘cause Seabs was living with Johnny now. Seabs had been right on board with getting out on the town tonight, though. He'd shimmied out of his pads so fast, Bur had tried to shove a dollar bill down his shirt collar on the way out of the locker room.

A camera flash popped in his face from across the table. Jesus, the staff photographer got every-fucking-where. Duncan snorted, shaking his head as the afterimage burned white to yellow to red. He sat a little straighter, and narrowed his eyes, blinking at the crowd and ignoring the little troll until he disappeared back towards the bar. Fine. He dropped his half-empty glass to the table with a sharp click. Seabs wanted him back out in the club scene? He’d get something going, and see how he liked it. It was Friday night, and he was at a club where even Kane might get laid. Hell, the team was even picking up enough local juice that they got a VIP rope. Seabs was out there trampling some poor girl on the dance floor probably. Duncan just had to get himself out there and find someone worth losing the table for, too.

He eyed the six-deep group of co-eds who'd been pretending not to realize how close they were to the VIP section. Next to them, standing kind of off to the side, was a guy, just a black outline in front of a particularly bright strobe. Big guy; maybe like he'd played a little shinny back in the day, with bushy hair standing up all over his head.

Duncan licked his lips, squinting. It kinda looked like the guy was looking back at him, full out—not even pretending not to see him. He had thick, strong shoulders, and his t-shirt sleeves strained to cover his biceps. The guy tilted his head, and Duncan caught the edge of a grin, white teeth framed by full lips, like he'd been biting on them all day. The guy raised his hand, two fingers extended, and tapped the side of his temple before flicking them at Duncan.

Duncan sucked in air through his teeth, and swallowed, exhaling through his nose. Oh. Oh—shit, right, that—right, okay. That was…he could do this here. Sure.

Duncan leaned forward a little, and set down his glass. He licked his lips. The guy stared at him, thumbs in the waistband of his pants, and fingers curving down his hips. Duncan rested his weight against his elbow on the table, and rubbed his fingers over his jaw. The guy rocked back and forth on his heels, and then nodded to himself. He pinched the twine separating the VIPs from the rest of the bar between two fingers, and tugged on it, raising his eyebrows in Duncan's direction. Duncan shrugged, but he felt heat flare across his cheeks. The Hawks were a big deal these days, and he was proud of it.

The guy's grin widened as he dropped the twine, and side-stepped out of the direct light. He bumped into one of the girls, and back up a step, raising his hands. Duncan sat up on his stool, grimacing as a sour tension knotted in his stomach. There were a lot of people hanging around, and PR had gotten bitchy with all the exposure lately. He hadn’t meant—maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all. The guy was already resting one hand on the stanchion, though, hopping on one foot until he was up and over the barrier, and sliding onto the bar stool next to Duncan's. The co-eds laughed, fluffing their stick straight hair, and looking at them over their shoulders. Duncan watched them over the guy's shoulders, waiting for them to turn back to each other, and chewed his lip. Where’d that photographer run off to again?

"Hi," the guy said. "I thought you looked lonely."

Duncan swallowed, and shrugged, ducking his chin. The guy's eyes dipped down from Duncan's face to his chest to his lap and lingered. Duncan felt his skin prickle with heat, and fought the urge to squirm. The club lights made the guy's face look pale, strobes scattering across his high cheekbones, but his forehead shone with sweat at the temples. He'd been dancing maybe, and...and what? No way had a guy like this come to The Pony to pick up a hockey player.

Duncan narrowed his eyes. "Just holding the table," he said.

He leaned harder on his elbow, and crossed his arms over his chest. Up close the guy was big, not too much taller than he was, but built more solid. The guy's thin black t-shirt was a size too small, riding up a little to show pale skin above the waistband of his jeans. He had a little bit of a love handle thing going; the skin looked soft enough to bite. The guy coughed, and Duncan's head jerked, bringing his eyes back up to stare the guy in the face.

"Yeah?" the guy said, stretching a little. He rubbed his hand down his chest, and Duncan swallowed. The guy's mouth twitched. "How's that working out for you?"

The guy eyed the table full of empty glasses, as a fine shimmer of heat settled into the pit of Duncan’s stomach. Okay, so it had been two years since he’d actually gone for it in public with somebody he didn’t know. He still remembered how to do it. Duncan shrugged, and glanced around, just like he’d used to: right, left, back and sides. Just to make sure there wasn't some pack of frat boys waiting to pound the fag and pay out twenty bucks. The co-eds had drifted north, and a foot of space had suddenly opened up around their table. Nobody was really watching—not really—but the entire fucking bar was still there, and the bouncer, and...and they really were all kind of watching, weren't they. It was the whole point of a fucking VIP section. He’d waited three years to be someone other than ‘that guy’ and now it was—

"Are you waiting for somebody? Because I could go," the guy said, already twisting on the stool.

" _No_ —uh," Duncan said, jerking his hand free and latching onto the guy's sleeve. "I mean, I'm not waiting for my—for anyone in particular."

The guy laughed, turning his body towards Duncan so that his back was to the rest of the room, and his knees spread wide for balance. His left foot settled against the footrest of Duncan’s stool, closely enough to brush his shin along Duncan’s calf. He had...good thighs; nice, strong thighs that Duncan could picture himself straddling. Duncan bit the inside of his mouth, hard, and put his eyes back to the guy's face. They were in a public place, for fuck's sake, he was already risking a lot just letting Big, Dark, and Slutty-mouthed climb over the rope. The guy put his right elbow on the table, and leaned, with his chin underneath his fist. His shirt rose up on one side, and Duncan resisted the urge to pull it down for him.

"Me either," the guy said, still grinning. A spray of glitter curled around the side of his neck, and Duncan swallowed. "I just thought I'd see what I could see, you know? Getting a little bored all by myself at home."

Duncan blinked. Right, what was _that_ —

The guy bit his lower lip, and waggled his bushy eyebrows. Duncan shook himself, and sat up a little straighter.

"Right!" he said, moving a little closer so the guy could hear him over "We Ride." "I'm supposed—I mean, I'm _bored_ at home too. Which is why I'm here...at the club."

The guy—Duncan really had to work in asking his name—grinned at him, and his nose wrinkled. A sudden knot in Duncan's stomach pressed against his ribs, throbbing a little. He licked his lips, and glanced over the guy's shoulders again; still nothing.

"So…looks like this is the place to come for grilled cheese, huh?" the guy said, shifting in his seat.

Duncan nodded, and pushed the plate closer to him without looking. "Yeah, I saved you half."

Oh damn. He winced, while Seabs groaned and smacked his hand against the table. "Duncs!"

He sighed, and slumped back against the wall. "I know, I know! You gave the signal and everything. I just...it's weird! It's not like I don't know it's you."

Seabs glared at him. "That is not the point of anonymous pick up sex in a club."

"Well, maybe I don't _want_..." Duncan lowered his voice, "anonymous pick up sex in a club."

Seabs raised his eyebrows. "Then why the hell did you spend three days yakking at me about your college club scene?"

Duncan shrugged, and rested his head against his fist.

"And spending all your time talking about 'the good old days' with Kane? You know he believes all that shit you tell him."

Duncan shrugged again, and rubbed his eyes. He knocked his ankle against Seabs', and peeked at him from between his fingers.

“Maybe I just like thinking about what we used to get away with,” he said.

Seabs picked up Duncan's half-eaten crust, dunked it in the red sauce, and took a bite. He chewed slowly, licking sauce off his thumb. Duncan felt his own tongue lick out from between his lips. Seabs swallowed, and picked up the other half of Duncan's sandwich, waggling it in Duncan’s direction.

"I got a grilled cheese and all night, hon," he said, and Duncan felt his mouth stretch up into a grin.

"Don't fucking call me that," he said, dropping his hand to his beer glass.

Seabs inched forward, closing the space between them with their sandwich. "You fucking love when I call you that," he said, sinking his voice into his chest.

Duncan's fingers tightened around his glass. "Yeah," he said, coughing a little.

Seabs grinned, and ripped a bite out of the sandwich. Grease shone on his lips, and Duncan wanted to lick them, screw being out in public.

"Well then, how about you take me fucking home?" Duncan asked, leaning into Seabs’ space. “I’ll help you take off that glitter.”

Seabs groaned, rocking back on his stool. “You gotta be kidding me. We just got here!”

Duncan kicked his ankle again, smacking Seabs' foot off his stool. He stood up between Seabs' knees, and then stumbled sideways, looking past him to the club floor. The strobes were throbbing above his head, turning the crowd purple, then green, then blue, and Duncan shook his head to clear the glare from his eyes. Seabs poked him in the shoulder, hard, and stood as well, close enough that Duncan could feel the heat pouring off Seabs' body. Duncan tilted his head to look Seabs in the eyes. Fuck his three extra inches, anyway.

"You have a _problem_ with me not wanting to suck you off in a bathroom stall when we own awesome beds?" Duncan lowered his voice, poking him right back.

Seabs' shirt was damp to the touch, sweaty from dancing. He dropped his hand, and wiped it off on his jeans, glancing around to see if anyone was still watching. PR was always talking about that now, like Chicago was suddenly going to notice they had a hockey team and smear pictures of them all over the tabloids overnight.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked. "I have a problem with you going all freaky and silent in that dump you call an apartment."

"It's not a dump," Duncan said. He crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at some dolled up chick staring at them until she tossed her hair and disappeared into the crowd.

Seabs rolled his eyes. "If we didn't share a dog, we'd have been eaten by something from your fridge by now. And stop trying to fucking side step me. You don't want to...oh, fuck it. Fine, Jigsaw, have it your way."

Seabs jerked his head backwards, and stepped away from the table. Duncan followed him out onto the club floor, stepping over the twine, and letting Seabs brace himself on Duncan's shoulder for balance. Seabs dropped his hand almost immediately, and Duncan resisted the urge to press his palm over the residual heat on his shoulder. He followed Seabs through the crowd, ducking elbows, and sliding into gaps that closed almost before he could register seeing them.

Ahead of him, the strobes flashed across Seabs' broad back; his t-shirt was plastered with sweat against his skin. Duncan tried to play it off, keeping his distance, just a guy following his buddy through a club, calling it a night on account of practice the next day, and not a staff photographer in sight. They could be anybody, but the muscles of Seabs' back made Duncan's mouth run dry, and every fucking casual eye he caught on their way out the door made him want to be back in Michigan, where if he went far enough outside East Lansing, no one gave a fuck who got him off.

The air outside the bar leeched all the heat from Duncan's body as soon as they stepped outside. They nodded at the bouncer holding the door open. Duncan glanced over the lineup of fresh bodies waiting to get inside, but they were more interested in the man with the clipboard out front, than two guys leaving it. He let his breath puff out into the cold night air, watching the vapor trail curl away from him. That was good; nothing he did was anybody's business but his and Seabs.

Seabs shivered, tucking his arms around his chest, and looked over his shoulder. Duncan shoved his hands into his pockets. They'd both left their coats in Duncan's car on the way in.

"Still got your keys?" Seabs asked. "I never remember where we park."

Duncan nodded, wrapping his fingers around the electronic lock. Seabs nodded back. He glanced up and down the street, and shrugged at him. They turned to the right, walking away from the line up outside the club, and around the side of the building to the parking lot in back.

"How'd you get glitter on your neck, anyway?" he asked, glancing over at Seabs, as they walked down the short flight of pitted concrete steps to the lot.

Seabs rapped his knuckles three times against the metal handrail, once for each step, and shrugged. "Some girl," he said. "She was trying to get me to grind."

Duncan stumbled on the last step, and Seabs' hands wrapped around his upper arms to keep him upright, catching the edge of a fading bruise. He pushed him back on his feet, and Duncan let him.

"Well, hell, that's what celebrities do, right?" he said, wincing as Seabs let go.

They went clubbing, instead of going out to bars with their teammates, and danced up on girls who wore glitter, or some shit like that. They didn't have boyfriends, or share custody of their dogs, and if they did then somebody was getting fired. 'Cause the team had momentum now, and that meant people would finally fucking sit up and take notice, and that was all he'd wanted, right?

"Fuck you," Seabs laughed. "Celebrities. We got, like, three games on an actual TV station, and suddenly we're celebrities?"

Duncan turned on his heels, and shoved his hands into his pockets. He started walking, angling past a Camry to get to the back of the lot, where he’d had to park. ‘Big Shots,’ according to Kane, never showed up before midnight. Apparently, that meant wet fucking shoes, and a fifteen minute wait to get onto the street.

“Oh come on, one fucking VIP section?” Seabs said, following behind him. “Shit, I thought maybe Sharpy’d brought the rope for it in his trunk.”

Duncan snorted. He tilted his head up to the sky, trying to see past the light from the street lamps. Away from the crowd, it wasn’t a bad night; cold, but clear, and the parking lot itself was mostly empty. A few cars inched towards the street exit, a row to their left. Duncan raised his hand in front of his face to block their lights as the first car angled for the turn.

He looked behind him, and saw Seabs a few steps away, grinning.

“I don’t like some jackass taking my picture all night,” Duncan said, over his shoulder.

Seabs snorted. “Shit, he’d have left you alone if you’d left the table. That crowd’s so thick, I’m surprised I even got back to our section again.”

Duncan tapped his teeth against each other, and turned back around. “Thank God for small blessings, eh?”

“Oh come on, I didn’t mean it like _that_ ,” Seabs said.

Duncan put some muscle into his walk, and heard Seabs pick up the pace behind him. They’d taken Duncan’s car from practice, since Seabs’d been carpooling with Johnny while his Escalade was in the shop. Of course, by the time they’d made it to The Pony from Village Tap, the only spot on the grid had been in the back of the fucking lot. Duncan slid around a badly parked Mercedes, and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“Was this street lamp out when we fucking got here?” he asked, kicking at a crushed can of Bud.

“No, asshole, it wasn’t,” Seabs said. His hand clamped down on Duncan’s shoulder, pulling him back just as Duncan had been stepping out into the road between the rows. “And you’re about to walk past your car.”

Duncan turned around, and Seabs’ hand dragged from his shoulder to his collarbones. He kicked the ground again, and blew air out through his nose. Heat crept up the back of his neck to curl around his ears.

“I knew that,” he muttered.

He pulled his key ring out of his pocket, and hit the unlock button twice, once for the driver and the second for the rest of the doors.

“Sure, you did,” Seabs said, rubbing his thumb up and over the collar of Duncan’s t-shirt.

He swayed closer, pushing lightly, and Duncan leaned away, bracing himself on backdoor of his SUV. His heartbeat ratcheted up a notch, bumping up against his ribcage.

“Give it a rest, all right?” Duncan said. “I’m fucking tired. I wanna drop you off before I get stuck on the 41 all night.”

“Yeah,” Seabs said. “Okay, one,” he held up his index finger, “I counted two more glasses on that table than there were when I left, and two,” he pressed his thumb into the base of Duncan’s neck, “what the fuck has got you so pissy?”

Duncan rolled his eyes, and shifted his weight from his left to his right. “I’m not a fucking twelve year old, okay? I don’t get pissy, and one of those glasses was Buf’s.”

Seabs’ hand pressed down a little harder, and Duncan looked up. Seabs stared back at him, thick eyebrows drawing together. Duncan’s thumbs itched with the need to press the wrinkle out from between Seabs’ eyes.

“Come on,” Seabs said.

Duncan opened his mouth, and nothing came out but air. He slumped against his car, and Seabs stepped between his legs, hooking the fingers of his other hand through a belt loop on Duncan’s jeans.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Duncan said, letting his eyes drift to the glitter sputtering with light on Seabs’ neck. “We’re in public.”

Seabs froze for a second, and then his hands tightened on Duncan’s neck and clothes. Duncan swallowed, and raised his hands, pushing the air with his palms. His keychain rocked against his left palm.

"I...a couple of months ago, Tom from the front office had Coach call me into his office," Duncan said. "Tom's office, I mean."

Seabs frowned, tilting his head a bit to the right. "Tom? I...is he the guy who handed out those business cards that gave people free tickets?"

Duncan snorted. "He's the assistant head of media relations, Seabs."

Seabs tugged on his belt loop, brushing their hips against one another, and grinned. "Right, the business card dude."

Duncan took a breath, and pressed his lips together. He let his palms fall to Seabs' hips, digging his cracked nails into Seabs' belt. He felt solid muscle move against his hands as Seabs breathed. "He said...he, like, he wanted to congratulate me on moving out..." Seabs' hand on his collarbone started to curl, nails slipping past the ring of his t-shirt collar. Duncan met his eyes, and pushed the rest of it out into the cold air between them. "He wanted to make sure I knew how important it was for us not to be too close these days 'cause of all our momentum. Said maybe I should try looking for a place over in Streetervi--"

"You already picked the place on North Oakley," Seabs said. "It's—"

"Close to the place you're buying," Duncan said, nodding. "He knows. He's got an intern trying to figure out how to work it, if someone brings it up, but he thought it might be easier for everybody if I…reconsidered."

Seabs' mouth flattened to a flushed outline. His hand shook on Duncan's collar, and then clamped down. "You're seriously just telling me now?" he asked. "You're fucking standing there, telling me the God damn _front_ fucking office is telling you to move away from me so some fucking—"

"I wasn't going to do it!" Duncan yelled, cutting Seabs off. He shook him by the hips. "I told him to go to hell, and Coach told him I could live wherever I damn well wanted to, but I don't...I don't want to ruin this for us, and I didn't want to fucking wo—"

Dark splotches burst across Seabs' cheeks as his voice grew louder. "Well, you _did_ fucking worry me! You kept disappearing after practice, and sending me texts, and then telling me how to erase my SIM card and—ruin this? You think we..." Seabs let him go, shaking himself out of Duncan's grip, and taking a step back. "You think a picture of me and you in a club is going to fuck everything up?"

Duncan slumped against his car, and stuck his keys back into his pocket. "Depends on the picture, right? I mean, it's not like we ever thought we could..."

He flicked his hand back and forth between them, and shrugged. It wasn't like they'd ever been the hand-holding type, but before if they stood too close, it wouldn't maybe show up as a joke on The Score the next day. Forget all the shit they used to pull, dragging each other off into corners and only coming up for air when the house lights turned on; the city was starting to remember they had a hockey team.

Seabs looked away, and dragged his hands across his cheeks. "We're the worst fucking kept secret in Chicago, Duncs," he said, and Duncan winced as his voice cracked, quietly. "Your mom puts Christmas pictures of us up on her Facebook page."

"Yeah, well, it just got me thinking," Duncan said. He looked down at the asphalt, rubbing the toe of his right sneaker against his left calf. He shivered. "I have too many good things going for me now to screw them both up."

Seabs took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He bent his head, and crossed his arms across his chest. Duncan raised his hand between them, and then let it fall back.

"If I want to go to a club with my boyfriend,” Seabs said, finally, “I'm going to fucking go to a club with my boyfriend." He raised his head, catching Duncan's eyes every time he tried to flinch away. "You don't like to dance, that's cool, but you're who I'm going home with at the end of the night, and I don't care if I've got fucking Deadspin and Don Cherry crawling up my ass every time I step out my door, all right? Nothing changes."

Duncan swallowed, shifting on his feet. A flash of heat tightened his stomach and prickled his skin. "Nothing changes," he echoed.

Seabs nodded sharply. " _Fuck_ the front office," he said.

Duncan took a deep breath, and stamped down on the urge to look around the parking lot in case someone was watching. He licked his teeth behind his closed lips, and said, "Fuck me."

Seabs blinked. "What?"

Duncan leaned back on his car, angling his hips away from the door handle, and spread his legs. "Fuck me," he said. "It's the end of the night, and only losers leave the club by themselves."

He licked his lips, and swallowed, clenching his teeth together while Seabs stared at him. Seabs' mouth opened and shut. He coughed.

"That--is that so?" he asked, shuffling forward.

Duncan nodded, and put his hands in his pockets, tugging the waistband of his jeans off his skin. "Yeah, well, my, uh, my friend ditched me, so maybe you could give me a ride back to my hotel? I'm new in town, and I'd be real grateful."

He stood away from his car, right up into Seabs' space, and brushed his mouth against the hollow of Seabs' throat, licking over Seabs' Adam's apple.

"Don't you think it's kind of...?” Seabs' chin rubbed down the side of his face until his lips hovered above Duncan's own. "It's kinda dangerous to get into a stranger's car?"

"Oh, I don't know," Duncan said, breathing in Seabs' stuttering exhale. "You got one of those faces, you know? The kind you just wanna trust."

Seabs' breath hissed out between them. Duncan swayed forward, going up on his toes, and caught Seabs' upper lip between his teeth, sucking it inside his mouth. He took his hands out of his pockets, and pushed them up inside the clammy cotton of Seabs' t-shirt, stroking up to his nipples, and pinching lightly. Seabs moaned, wrapping his arms around Duncan's lower back, and crushing Duncan's hands between them. Duncan hooked his leg behind Seabs' knee, grunting into the kiss as the car caught their short tumble, and Seabs' weight pressed him against the car door. He spread his legs, rocking his cock against Seabs' thigh.

Seabs' grip tightened. Duncan let his tongue flicker out between their mouths, licking the pout of Seabs' lower lip.

"God, who let you out on your own with a mouth like that," Duncan whispered, reaching his left hand up between them and cupping the side of Seabs' head. His fingers tangled in Seabs' dark hair, still damp from sweat. "Fancy car, tight jeans...you wanna be my sugar daddy?"

Seabs shuddered, and Duncan groaned, pressing forward only to have Seabs turn out of the kiss and bite the point of his jaw. He dragged his right hand down from Seabs' chest to the front of his jeans, and pressed his knuckles against Seabs' zipper, rubbing up against Seabs' hard cock.

"Be Duncs, okay?" Seabs said, pressing his forehead against Dunc's cheek. "Just...I mean, you _are_ , but I don't wanna think..." he sighed, hot air blowing against Duncan's neck. "Be Duncs for me."

Seabs' weight shifted, pulling away from him. Duncan tightened his grip on Seabs' head, holding him in place. He turned his other hand, cupping his palm over Seabs' cock, and rubbed his own dick against Seabs' thigh.

"You know, we never christened my car," he said, tugging lightly on Seabs' hair until Seabs was looking at him. "You wanna help me with that, before we get home?"

A smile broke open on Seabs' face, and suddenly Duncan found himself hauled off the side of his own car, off-balance and tangled in Seabs' stupidly long arms. Seabs' mouth fell onto his, both lips tugging at Duncan's upper lip. He opened his mouth, sucking in Seabs' tongue, and dimly registered the loss of Seabs' hand on his ass, and then the sound of a door opening behind him. Seabs shuffled forward, dragging his mouth down to the side of Duncan's throat and biting down high enough that he'd be wearing a fucking scarf for days. Duncan let himself be pushed up and into the backseat, spreading out as Seabs climbed in on top of him.

Seabs sat back, caught between Duncan's legs, and stretched one foot out into the footwell in the second row of seats for balance. "Fuck, I'm glad you shelled out for bench seating," he said, twisting to yank the door shut behind them.

Duncan tightened his stomach, and sat up long enough to pull his t-shirt up and over his head, tossing it towards the front. Seabs turned back to him, pale skin and dark eyes glowing in the street light, and then his mouth was on Duncan's chest. Duncan arched, shaking as Seabs' hands dragged hot lines down from his shoulders to his hips. Seabs circled Duncan's nipples with his tongue, biting the spot where his heartbeat shook the hardest. His hands latched on to Duncan's belt loops, dragging his hips up and over his thighs. He licked up Duncan's collarbones to his neck, and Duncan grabbed hold of Seabs' back, rocking up into him and swallowing his groans as soon as his mouth came within reach.

"God, when we get home," he said, slamming his head back against the seat as Seabs finally worked them both free of their pants. Seabs' cock painted a hot wet line across Duncan's hip. "Fuck, fuck _yes_ —"

He bucked, squirming until his pants scrunched down to his knees, and then Seabs was leaning up and over him, balancing a hand on the back of the backseat, with their cocks clutched in his hand. Duncan's right leg slid down, kicking for balance. He reached between them, slipping his fingers in between Seabs' and rubbing his thumb under the lip of Seabs' foreskin. Seabs whined, pressing his forehead into the bone of Duncan's shoulder. Duncan gasped; sweat flashing up and down his body, heat in all the places Seabs touched him. He shoved his other arm out and around Seabs' waist, pushing his hand down over the curve of Seabs' ass and dug his fingers into the cleft.

They pushed against each other, hands slipping free to grab the back of the second row of seats for leverage. Seabs wriggled his jeans and boxers off, stealing the giggle from Duncan's mouth with a rolling thrust of his hips that shoved Duncan's head almost into the armrest. Duncan moaned, and wrapped his own trapped ankles around one of Seabs' legs, drawing him closer, writhing upwards until the bench seat's springs shrieked beneath them, and Duncan's back arched, muscles seizing all at once as the smell of Seabs' sweat and the feel of the muscles under his skin, the drag of his wiry hair, of his cock against Duncan's dick exploded through him, and left him gasping, limp against the backseat.

Above him, Seabs groaned, thrusting faster, breaking his rhythm as he began to fall off into the footwell. Duncan forced his muscles back to work, grabbing for him even as he fell, and Seabs' breath caught, a thin, choked whistle escaping his throat as he came.

He fell back onto Duncan, squirming at the springs protested, and kissed the ball of Duncan's shoulder. Duncan trailed his fingers up and down the valley of Seabs' spine, spreading his hands out over the small of his back.

"Y'gd to drive?" Seabs mumbled. “Tomorrow’m kicking ass.”

Duncan turned his face into the side of Seabs' head, mouthing at the strands of his hair still standing. "Sure," he said, tightening his grip while Seabs murmured against his skin, chuckling. "Just give me a minute."


End file.
